


all will be revealed

by Shinybug



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Haircuts, M/M, Neck Kissing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinybug/pseuds/Shinybug
Summary: Jaskier cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Do you have a pair of shears somewhere in those bags?”“Yes.”“Are they sharp?”Geralt raised an eyebrow.“Right, right, scary witcher, loves sharp things. If you fetch it for me I’ll do my best to salvage…” he trailed off to wave his hand in the air around Geralt’s head, “...all this.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 83
Kudos: 884





	all will be revealed

**Author's Note:**

> So I was staring at Henry Cavill's neck one day, as you do, and its transcendent beauty inspired me. Please forgive the transgression against the sacred silver hair, and accept my offering of neck porn instead.

*********

Until Geralt pushed back his hood, Jaskier had no notion that anything was wrong. Geralt’s face betrayed nothing; his yellow eyes were as impassive as ever. But once the hood was off he let out a small sigh, just a little sound of dismay, and Jaskier’s jaw went slack.

The silver hair that had been pulled back in its leather tie earlier in the day, when he’d left to take care of whatever was lurking in the woods outside the town, was now hanging ragged and short on one side, barely grazing Geralt’s neck.

“I, uh,” said Jaskier. “Well, that’s.”

“Yeah,” Geralt replied, shrugging out of his cloak. The rest of him didn’t look too much worse for wear, just a little scuffed and dusty, minimal amounts of blood on his hands that didn’t appear to be his own.

“Did you get it?” Jaskier approached him cautiously, as though Geralt was a spooked horse. Geralt looked distinctly unimpressed.

“Yes.” He tried to bat away Jaskier’s hands and remove his own armor, but Jaskier persevered in helping, as he usually did. Up close Geralt’s hair looked even worse, and Jaskier fumbled a leather strap because he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“What was it?”

Geralt sighed again, this time more heavily. “Does it matter?”

Jaskier shrugged, setting pieces of armor aside and trying not to beg for the details. He didn’t think Geralt would appreciate this being immortalized in song. “I suppose not. Did it slice your hair off with its razor sharp claws?”

“No. I did it with my sword.”

“Well, if you wanted a new look you could have just asked for my help,” Jaskier teased as he checked Geralt over once more for injuries, finding none. “I’d have been happy to give you fashion tips, though I would likely have altered your wardrobe instead of your glorious mane. Incidentally, something to keep in mind for the future, you’d look simply stunning in blue.”

Geralt looked aggrieved. “My hair got caught between two tree branches. I had to cut myself free or be killed.”

“It was sacrificed for a noble cause, then.”

“Hmm.”

“Can I?” Jaskier asked, hesitantly reaching up.

Geralt looked wary but nodded. Jaskier ran his fingers down the shortened locks, measuring the shortest of them and leaning around to examine the back. It really was a hopeless case. The leather thong that usually held his hair back was gone, and the whole mass hung lopsidedly over his right shoulder.

Jaskier cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Do you have a pair of shears somewhere in those bags?”

“Yes.”

“Are they sharp?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

“Right, right, scary witcher, loves sharp things. If you fetch it for me I’ll do my best to salvage…” he trailed off to wave his hand in the air around Geralt’s head, “...all this.”

Geralt grunted. “I can do it myself.”

“Ha! Yes, because you can see the back of your own head, can you? Honestly, Geralt. Get me the shears, and a comb too if you please.”

With obvious reluctance Geralt retrieved them and placed them in Jaskier’s hand with a warning look. “If you make me look ridiculous I’ll use these shears on your clothes while you sleep.”

Jaskier leaned back, alarmed. “That’s a bit strong, isn’t it? You forget I have a vested interest in your general image. Tall, pale, and dashing is a look I’ve taken great pains to describe to my listening fans, and I have no plans to let you ever appear otherwise.”

Geralt narrowed his yellow eyes at Jaskier. “I’m not dashing.”

Jaskier grinned at him. “That is a matter of personal opinion, my dear witcher. And besides, there is no possible way that you could look more ridiculous than you do right now, so anything will be an improvement.”

Ignoring Geralt’s growl, he dragged a chair over near the small fireplace and pushed Geralt into it to sit with his back to the light. Geralt grudgingly let himself be arranged to Jaskier’s liking, and sat with his bulky arms crossed as though he didn’t know what else to do with them. Jaskier began to comb out the tangles in what was left of his hair, and he took the opportunity once he was out of Geralt’s range of vision to close his eyes and let out a shaky breath as silently as possible.

He’d never say it aloud in so many words, but Jaskier had always been just a little bit infatuated with Geralt’s hair. Over the course of their friendship Jaskier had devoted a great deal of time to keeping it well maintained, despite the abuse Geralt and his profession put it through. He took great pride in helping Geralt with his armor or stitching him up when he was injured, and he was sensible of the privilege of Geralt’s trust in him; it was no small thing that Geralt had let his guard down enough for Jaskier to slip inside, but the mundane task of caring for Geralt’s hair was a personal pleasure. Jaskier might not be allowed any closer than that, but he could relish the feel of Geralt’s hair sliding between his fingers and imagine, just for a moment, that he could hold on tightly, that it meant more than it did.

Jaskier didn’t have any experience in cutting hair, so he went very slowly and lamented silently. He gathered the short hair and used his fingers as a guide to snip away the ragged edges, moving from one side to the other. Geralt was silent while Jaskier worked, sitting still as a statue.

“I never asked you why you wore it this way,” Jaskier said quietly as the long locks fell away like silver feathers to the floor. His breath caught in his chest at random moments, seeing them fall. “Clearly it was a liability for you.”

Geralt didn’t say anything for a long while, and Jaskier began to think he wouldn’t answer at all. Eventually he said in a low voice, “Witchers aren’t allowed the luxury of vanity.”

Jaskier pondered that for a bit. “So you wore it long either because to maintain it short would be a luxury, or because you actually do have a streak of vanity and you liked your hair that way.”

Geralt tilted his head down in response, looking away, and Jaskier gently guided his head back up into place with a finger under his chin. “It’s the one thing I have control over.”

“It’s something that’s just for you,” Jaskier murmured in understanding, and the last of the long strands dropped from the shears.

It was still lopsided, so Jaskier took a deep breath and continued, smoothing the edges and tightening the length at the nape of his neck. He marvelled at Geralt’s patience while he worked and wondered if he had slipped into meditation, but a glance at Geralt’s face revealed that he was slowly blinking, perhaps lulled into quiescence by the motion of Jaskier’s fingers in his hair.

Jaskier finally set the shears aside and examined his work critically. Everything was even at least, though time would tell if it was at all flattering after being washed. He came around to the front to look over his work from a different angle, and was startled by the intense, watchful look in Geralt’s eyes. Very slowly Jaskier slipped his fingers through the hair at Geralt’s temples, stroking back along the curve of his skull, tousling the short hair and getting lost in the look of pleasure on Geralt’s face, the small sigh that escaped him.

“It’s done,” Jaskier whispered, and lifted his hands away.

Geralt nodded and held his gaze just a little too long.

“Let me clean you up,” Jaskier said as he shook himself out of his reverie, brushing the clipped hair from Geralt’s shoulders and onto the floor. “You should wash up in the basin over there, or you’ll itch.”

Geralt stood and stripped his shirt over his head, and Jaskier quickly looked away. He carefully gathered up all the loose hair on the floor and placed the pile next to the hearth to throw away later. There was a lot of it.

The sound of water splashing made him turn to see Geralt washing out his hair in the shaving basin in the corner of the room. He handed Geralt a towel and waited while he rubbed it thoroughly over his head and neck. His hair stuck up in odd directions and Jaskier couldn’t stop staring.

“How does it feel?” he asked anxiously.

Geralt hummed as he ran his fingers through his hair, slicking it back. “Very strange. It’s been a long time since I wore it like this. I feel...lighter.”

Jaskier pointed at the small, clouded mirror next to the basin and Geralt held it up to look. “It’s good,” he said, and Jaskier let out a sigh of relief. He picked up Geralt’s dropped shirt in order to give his hands some busy work, and carefully brushed off the stray clippings onto the pile he was collecting, then folded the shirt to be washed later. Geralt watched him quietly, absently touching the back of his neck.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, looking down. “I suppose I don’t say that enough.”

Jaskier was struck dumb with shock for a moment, then finally managed to say, “It’s no trouble.”

Geralt pursed his lips and shook his head. “It’s important. Let me say it.”

“Alright.” Jaskier’s chest hurt suddenly, and he felt a strange need to brace himself for some kind of emotional impact.

“Thank you.” Geralt stepped forward and laid his hand briefly on Jaskier’s forearm, then slipped down to grasp delicately at the embroidered hem of Jaskier’s sleeve. Jaskier stared at Geralt’s hand and the minimal connection he had yet to break. “I see what you do for me.”

Jaskier smiled. Geralt could probably hear his loudly thudding heart, but if he could ignore it then maybe Geralt would too. “I don’t do it for thanks, I do it because we’re friends. But you’re welcome.”

Geralt nodded and his hand dropped away. He didn’t acknowledge the word ‘friend’ but he didn’t deny it either, which Jaskier took as a good sign. His wrist felt warm where Geralt’s hand had lingered and he fought the impulse to read more into the gesture than had been there. He watched Geralt carefully, unsure of what to tell his own poor, hopeful heart.

“You look so different,” he marveled softly. He was struck by how Geralt’s jaw looked even stronger now, by the way Geralt’s neck was bared to his gaze in a way that was almost too intimate. “But still dashing.”

Geralt made a face. “I’m not dashing.”

“That dashing curl over your forehead says otherwise,” Jaskier promised him with a smile, delighted to see Geralt’s hair gently waving as it dried. His fingers itched to touch again, to tug that falling curl. He realized something, looking at Geralt now, and disappointment rested heavy in his stomach. “I suppose you’ll not be needing my help washing your hair from now on.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, a faint smirk on his face, but Jaskier didn’t think it was meant unkindly. Still, it stung a little.

“At least it will be easier to wash monster guts out, the next time you find yourself killing one from the inside.” Jaskier poured himself a splash of wine from the bottle on the table, striving to shake off the feeling of disquiet, and mostly succeeding. He offered some to Geralt, who shook his head.

“Are you playing tonight?” Geralt asked, his eyes flicking to the door.

Jaskier had forgotten all about it, in the evening’s dramatic turn. “I made a deal for our supper, half price for an evening’s entertainment. Will you stay afterwards and watch?”

“Only if you don’t sing that song about the old gray mare. I can’t stand that one.” Geralt’s voice was muffled from the inside of the clean shirt he was pulling over his head.

“Why Geralt, you were listening! You always said you were tuning me out whenever I sang.” Jaskier couldn’t keep the grin from his face.

“I couldn’t ignore a song that bad.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that, and bask in the joy of having your presence in the crowd,” Jaskier said happily, pulling on his green doublet and taking up his lute.

“Lead on then, bard,” Geralt replied, gesturing at the door with one hand and brushing his hair back from his forehead with the other.

“Dashing,” Jaskier promised as he opened the door.

Geralt just sighed.

************

The public room wasn’t large but was packed full of patrons who, for the most part, enjoyed Jaskier’s performance. There was a lovely young lady in the front row who made it clear very early on that she wouldn’t mind having Jaskier walk her home, so to speak.

But Jaskier’s eyes were only ever drawn to Geralt, who due to the crowd had been obliged to sit much closer to the center of the room than to the corner in the shadows, as was his preference. Lamplight flickered over his face and the smooth column of his bare neck, and Jaskier had forgotten the lyrics to his own song at one point, having fixated on it. Geralt sent him some odd looks over the rim of his mug, but he stayed for the whole performance, which was unusual for him.

Jaskier had thought of singing the ditty about the old gray mare just to watch Geralt’s nostrils flare, but in the end decided against it. Instead he sang ‘Winter Winds,’ which he’d long suspected Geralt enjoyed, despite having never heard a word about it from him. There was always a softening in his eyes whenever Jaskier sang it, and from Geralt that was the same as approval. This time there was even more there in his gaze, a glint that Jaskier had never seen before and didn’t know how to interpret, but eventually he had to avert his attention more to the tavern patrons instead, lest he give too much away on his own face.

When he finally finished to a respectable amount of applause, he bowed expansively and gave his best stage grin, scooping up his offerings and packing away his lute. Geralt waited for him with a full mug of ale and an almost-smile, and Jaskier dropped down in front of him still vibrating from his performance.

“You stayed,” he pointed out, as though it had escaped Geralt’s notice.

“Didn’t have anywhere better to be.” Geralt pushed the second mug across the table.

“Damned by faint praise,” Jaskier said with a hand over his heart, but he winked at Geralt when he said it, and Geralt just huffed and shook his head, giving him a rare grin. The motion sent that dashing curl shifting over his forehead, and Jaskier nearly choked on his ale from how much the sight affected him.

“So,” he continued, clearing his throat when it came out hoarse. “We’re leaving tomorrow morning?”

Geralt nodded. “I heard of some ghouls a couple days north of here. Thought we’d head that way.”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “Not fond of ghouls. Not enough romantic story potential.”

“I’ll try to drum up a succubus for you next time,” Geralt said dryly.

“I’m only teasing you. Mostly.”

Geralt narrowed his eyes and finished his ale. His gaze shifted from Jaskier to a point beyond his right shoulder, and Jaskier glanced back to see what he was looking at. “I’m done. I won’t wait up,” Geralt said shortly.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your charms seem to have worked.” He nodded subtly in that direction and Jaskier looked again, finding the young woman from earlier in the evening staring at him expectantly.

“Oh. No, not tonight, I think. She’s not really my type.”

“Everyone is your type, Jaskier,” Geralt said flatly, getting to his feet.

Jaskier hummed over that, giving it some thought. “You’re not entirely wrong. I am an equal opportunity lover.” Lately, however, he’d been less inclined to follow those opportunities, since the one he wanted wasn’t available to him. Brief dalliances and free love had lost their allure, when more than once he’d caught himself nearly calling out the wrong name in bed.

“So I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” He was mostly joking, but there was a sudden heaviness in his stomach. Maybe Geralt needed some time to himself, which he was obviously entitled to, but tonight it made Jaskier feel odd.

Geralt tilted his head. “Just trying to give you space.”

“Geralt, if I wanted space I would have left you at the last crossroads. Tonight I just want…” he trailed off when he realized what was about to come out of his mouth.

“What?”

Jaskier smiled and it felt a little thin, but he hoped it wasn’t obvious. “A friend.”

The word hung in the air between them for a long moment, then Geralt shrugged and turned away. “As you like.”

Jaskier’s ale was almost gone so he tossed it back and followed Geralt to the stairs. As he turned the corner he saw the lovely girl wave at him, disappointment obvious on her face. Jaskier just gave her a rueful smile, since it seemed that neither of them would be getting what they truly wanted.

************

Faced with Geralt’s looming presence filling up their little room, Jaskier’s doubts grew. “Ah, Geralt,” he said haltingly, fiddling with his money purse and lingering near the doorway, “I made good coin tonight. If you prefer to sleep alone, I could get my own room. That bed isn’t...well it’s not the smallest we’ve shared, but it looks to be in the top ten. And I know you hate it when I emulate a starfish.”

Geralt paused with his shirt raised halfway up his stomach, and Jaskier’s eyes were drawn helplessly to the rippling muscles as he continued pulling it over his head. “It’s fine,” Geralt replied, folding his shirt and setting it on top of his bag. “Don’t waste your money.”

“Well. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“I already said so, didn’t I?”

Jaskier set his lute down in the corner and tucked his money purse into his bag. He was determined to act the way he always had, with the practiced restraint he had called upon every single time they had shared a bed before. Jaskier was no longer the brash youth he had been when they met, and he was perfectly capable of managing his own desires. No matter that Geralt seemed to be radiating some kind of restless energy that was drawing Jaskier forward like the pull of gravity.

Therefore, he tried not to look at Geralt too long, tried not to fixate on the flash of his golden eyes as they turned his way, a glancing blow. Jaskier recited tedious poetry to himself in his head as a distraction as he pulled off his shirt in preparation for bed. He lined his boots up next to Geralt’s by the hearth and stoked the fire while he was there. The flare of the flames illuminated the wide stretch of Geralt’s back, and he couldn’t help but notice a mistake in his amatuer styling.

“Oh, Geralt,” he said, halting him with a hand on his shoulder. Geralt froze in place. “I missed a lock of hair, let me fix it. I won’t be but a moment.”

Geralt stood perfectly still while Jaskier retrieved the shears and gathered the small uneven bit of hair. He snipped it shorter to match the rest and tossed the lock aside next to the hearth. “Are you done?” Geralt asked gruffly. 

“Nearly,” Jaskier replied, and blew a puff of air on the nape of his neck to remove any stray clippings.

And Geralt made a _sound._

It was somewhere between a whine and a groan, a strangled noise that caught in his throat. Jaskier’s eyes widened and he stared uncomprehending at the slight tremor of Geralt’s shoulders. “Geralt,” Jaskier said slowly, “are you well?”

Geralt’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. His voice, when it finally came, was like stone scraping against stone. “Would you...do that again.”

It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a command. Jaskier leaned in close without letting himself think, and blew a stream of air across Geralt’s bare nape. Geralt jerked like he’d been startled. His hands flexed open and then tightly closed. Jaskier’s heart started to race as he realized what was happening, and fire began to curl in his belly. He was close enough to feel the heat of Geralt’s body against his, and he hesitantly pressed closer until his bare chest was almost flush with Geralt’s scarred back. He breathed against Geralt’s skin so gently it was barely more than a wash of warmth, and Geralt softly moaned.

“Jaskier,” he said, a hitch in his breath.

“Geralt,” Jaskier replied, trying to keep his voice steady, and he laid one hand against the ball of Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt leaned into the touch. Jaskier bit his lip, thinking about how their whole relationship hinged on this moment, then he pressed his mouth against the naked, pale curve of Geralt’s neck.

Geralt gasped and reached back to latch his unsteady hand onto Jaskier’s hip, his fingers digging in hard. Jaskier dragged his tongue upwards along the trail of vertebrae to the dip between tendons, listening to Geralt’s heaving breaths. He gave in to his own desire and slid his fingers into Geralt’s short hair, tugging at the silver waves while he gently sucked at the curve between his neck and shoulder. Geralt groaned his name.

Jaskier could have continued like that indefinitely, coaxing rough sounds out of Geralt and learning the salty flavor of his skin, but Geralt half-spun in his arms and dragged Jaskier the rest of the way to meet him, pressing their foreheads together.

“You can stop,” Geralt said, his voice shaky.

“Oh,” Jaskier murmured, a cold wave washing over him. “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted--”

“I want. I’ve wanted.” Geralt’s hands tightened on Jaskier’s biceps. “But if it’s only because I asked,” he said, struggling visibly to get the words out, “then you can stop.”

Jaskier took Geralt’s face in his hands and anchored him for a kiss that promised he was more than willing to be there. Geralt was still for a moment, letting himself be kissed, then he gripped Jaskier hard and opened his mouth to lick into Jaskier’s with a groan. Jaskier shivered in his arms and bent like a willow when Geralt shifted him harder into the kiss with a hand on his hip and another on his back. Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s broad shoulders and held on as his world spun on its axis.

He wrapped his hand around the back of Geralt’s neck for leverage and Geralt broke the kiss, tipping his head back into the touch. Jaskier skated his thumb upwards into the soft hair at the nape of his neck and Geralt’s hips jerked against his. He was hard in his breeches, pressing insistently against Jaskier’s hip, and Jaskier struggled to catch up. He’d never expected to be able to touch, to kiss, to feel Geralt under his hands like this, and it was overwhelming.

“Slow down,” Jaskier whispered against Geralt’s mouth, his heart hammering in his chest. Geralt nipped at his bottom lip and pulled away, and Jaskier swayed toward him despite having just asked for a moment to breathe.

“We don’t have to,” Geralt said, sliding his hands up to Jaskier’s shoulders. “Truly.”

“We do, we should,” he replied, framing Geralt’s face and brushing his thumbs along the strong line of Geralt’s jaw. “But we don’t have to do it so fast.”

Geralt briefly closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “What do you need?”

"I think it's more what you need," Jaskier said softly, sliding his fingers back to tease at Geralt’s hair, and Geralt’s eyes darkened as his pupils expanded. "You need this, don't you? My fingers here? My mouth here?”

Geralt tilted his head to give Jaskier access to his throat, and a fine tremor shook him when Jaskier scraped his teeth gently across the pale skin below his ear. He circled his fingertips at the base of Geralt’s skull, not digging in but hinting that he could, and Geralt made a rough sound.

“Do you?” Jaskier asked again, breathing the salt-spice scent of Geralt’s skin, darting his tongue out again for another taste.

“Yes,” Geralt said, so quietly that Jaskier might not have heard him if he hadn’t been as close as he was, if he hadn’t felt that vibration of Geralt’s throat against his lips.

“Then come here,” Jaskier said, his pulse quickening as he took Geralt’s hand and led him to the bed. “You’re making my knees weak, so sit down and I’ll give you what you need without injuring myself.”

Geralt’s mouth quirked up at the corner and he let himself be led to sit with his back against the wall, looking both indulgent and desperate as Jaskier climbed up to straddle his lap. Jaskier hissed when he felt the pressure of Geralt’s cock against his own through layers of fabric, his purpose momentarily steered off course, and Geralt’s hands came up to grasp his hips, pulling down hard for a slow grind that left Jaskier dizzy with wanting.

He smoothed his unsteady hands down Geralt’s cheekbones, his jaw, felt for the pulse in his throat with his thumbs. Geralt’s eyes watched him, burning him with the heat simmering there. He stroked down the column of his neck, slipped back to dig his fingers into Geralt’s nape, and Geralt’s head thumped back against the wall. His thighs shifted between Jaskier’s restlessly.

“Jaskier,” he whispered, tugging him down into a kiss that Jaskier opened up for immediately, letting Geralt stroke across his tongue in a slick, slow rhythm.

“Every time I washed your hair for you I wanted to do this,” Jaskier admitted against the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Every little sound of pleasure you made as you relaxed, I wanted it to be because of me.”

“It was,” Geralt replied, chasing after his mouth.

Jaskier shuddered and laughed into the kiss. He speared his fingers through Geralt’s short hair and dragged them across his scalp, the soft silver waves curving around his fingers and enticing them to stay there cupping the heat of Geralt’s skull. Geralt rocked up against Jaskier’s cock and sucked in a breath, sending a shiver down Jaskier’s spine.

“Would it be too forward,” Jaskier asked breathlessly, testing Geralt’s grip on his hips with an answering motion, “if I asked to ride you?”

Geralt surged up, dislodging Jaskier’s hands and kissing him hard and deep, giving him his answer. Jaskier ran his fingers down as much of Geralt’s back as he could reach, catching on scars, and Geralt moaned into his mouth. “I thought you wanted to go slow.”

“I can ride you slowly, can’t I?”

“You can certainly try,” Geralt replied, releasing him as Jaskier climbed off the bed to remove his trousers. Geralt followed him and unbuttoned his own, and when he drew out his heavy cock Jaskier completely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Geralt gave him a sly, knowing smirk.

Jaskier swallowed hard and went to search his bags for the bottle of oil he knew was in there somewhere. Given what he’d just seen of Geralt’s cock, he’d certainly be needing it. He felt Geralt come up behind him, and he fumbled the bottle when Geralt palmed his ass with both hands, smoothing around the curves to nudge his thumbs between Jaskier’s cheeks. 

“I could take you like this, against the wall,” Geralt mused, letting his cock brush up against Jaskier’s skin. “You’re tall enough.”

Jaskier shivered and pushed backward into the touch, bracing one hand against the wall. “I’ll leave it up to you, but I can’t touch you this way.”

“True.” Geralt yanked him upright and held him for a moment, back to chest, breathing hot against his ear and snaking his hand down to wrap around Jaskier’s cock. “We’ll just save this for next time, then.”

Perhaps they should have had a conversation before falling into bed together, because ‘next time’ had meaning, had purpose, and Jaskier couldn’t be sure that it meant the same to Geralt as it did to him. He wasn’t, however, fool enough to question it in the middle. Any damage control would have to wait. So he just agreed, “Next time,” and took a moment to savor the feeling of Geralt’s big calloused hand around his cock. His eyes rolled back when Geralt gave him a brief stroke, teasing him with a spark of pleasure.

Then Geralt released him and returned to the bed, leaning back against the wall. He reached out and caught Jaskier by the hand, reeling him in. Jaskier straddled his hips and handed the bottle to him, then tried to take it back. “Unless you’d rather I do it…”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “Come here.” He gathered Jaskier up close and popped the cork, slicking his fingers and placing the bottle on the table by the bed. “Talk to me,” he said as he reached back to slip over Jaskier’s hole gently, rubbing the oil around until Jaskier was trembling, ready to beg him for more.

Jaskier’s laugh was shaky. “Now you want me to talk? I thought you’d be happier with silence.”

“I’d rather know how you feel, if it’s good or not.” Geralt sounded ever so slightly uncertain, his fingers circling Jaskier’s rim, pressing so gently.

“It’s good, you’re so good,” he breathed, anticipation making his heart race. “Give me more. Don’t tease.”

“We’re going slowly, remember?”

“Why did I ever agree to that?”

“It was your idea.”

“I just...I never thought we’d be here,” Jaskier admitted, leaning into the touch, gasping when Geralt finally slipped in one long finger. “You have no idea how much I…” he trailed off on a moan as Geralt began to thrust shallowly.

“Finish that sentence,” Geralt prompted, adding a second finger.

Jaskier shook his head. He leaned backward into Geralt’s fingers, seeking more. He lost himself for a while, just rocking into Geralt’s motion.

“Tell me.” Geralt’s mouth moved against Jaskier’s cheek, and Jaskier melted into the cage of his arms. He struggled to string his thoughts together.

“How much I’ve wanted you. How long.” Jaskier leaned in to hide his face in Geralt’s neck, holding onto the breadth of his shoulders. All his reticence to call the thing by its name before they’d finished had just evaporated. “How badly I need to put my hands on you.”

The stretch of the third finger was fiery bliss, leaving Jaskier moaning. “Now you talk,” he gasped.

“Hmm,” Geralt said, and before Jaskier could protest the sound he continued, “I didn’t know how to ask.”

“Ask for what?”

“For you.”

Jaskier found Geralt’s mouth blindly, his eyes shut tight with the rush of sensation and emotion, kissing him open-mouthed and needy, and Geralt’s fingers were replaced by his cock before Jaskier even realized what was happening. Geralt shifted Jaskier on his lap without breaking the kiss, his cock nudging hard and thick into Jaskier’s body, slipping in as slow as Geralt’s heartbeat. Three fingers hadn’t been enough, Jaskier realized in some distant part of his mind, but his body defiantly struggled to accept the intrusion, and after what seemed like an eternity Geralt was seated within him.

“Slow?” Geralt asked, his voice strained and hoarse. He gripped Jaskier by the hips, flexing as though he wanted to pull or push, but was holding himself back.

“Slow,” Jaskier agreed, sitting up carefully, sinking down even further with the weight of gravity. “Gods, you’re so much.”

“Too much?” Geralt asked carefully.

Jaskier grinned hazily. “Just right.” He braced his thighs around the wide stretch of Geralt’s body and lifted himself up, testing the drag of Geralt’s cock within him. Geralt made a choked sound and his fingers tightened. Jaskier knew there would be bruises on his hips for days, and he was glad for it.

“Is it good?” Jaskier asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to see it on Geralt’s face.

“What do you think?” Geralt replied, a hint of exasperation there.

“I think I can make it better,” Jaskier said, and ran his fingers up Geralt’s chest to his shoulders as he began to ride him, slowly as promised. His fingers explored in the same languid rhythm, catching on Geralt’s medallion, on the line of his collarbone. When he reached Geralt’s throat he paused, feeling Geralt tense beneath him. Geralt’s eyes were heavy-lidded and shining gold, and Jaskier watched the pleasure roll through him as he slid his thumbs up the sides of Geralt’s throat. Geralt swallowed hard and moaned, a decadent sound that Jaskier wouldn’t have ever expected to hear from him.

He didn’t give Geralt time to think, just ran his fingers back into Geralt’s short hair and tugged, and Geralt threw his head back into Jaskier’s hands. His hips bucked, throwing Jaskier off his rhythm.

“Fuck,” Geralt hissed. “Again.”

Jaskier speared his fingers deeper into Geralt’s hair, raking gently down his scalp and tangling the waves around his fingers, coming down hard on Geralt’s cock at the same time. Fire licked up Jaskier’s spine, and Geralt groaned, clutching Jaskier to him so tightly that Jaskier could barely keep moving.

“You need this,” Jaskier whispered, kissing him quick and deep.

“I need you.” Geralt caught his mouth again and Jaskier shifted his hips slowly, not so much riding as rocking, and Geralt moved with him.

“If I was behind you, I would put my mouth here,” Jaskier said softly, tracing a line along Geralt’s bare nape. “I’d give you my tongue, my teeth.”

“If you were behind me,” Geralt echoed roughly, taking Jaskier’s face in his hands, kissing him.

“Maybe next time,” he offered, his eyes closed as he focused on the slick burn of his body around Geralt’s cock, “maybe next time I’ll take you instead.”

Geralt bit Jaskier’s lip hard enough to sting, and Jaskier took that to mean that he liked that thought. 

“This time, though, I’m glad to see your face,” Jaskier said, opening his eyes to meet Geralt’s, a little embarrassed at his own honesty.

“There are better things to be looking at, surely,” Geralt said as he circled the base of Jaskier’s cock with his fingers, slowly sliding upwards at the same time that Jaskier was rocking down.

Jaskier shook his head. “I see you, witcher. I don’t want to look anywhere else.”

Geralt’s breath caught, and Jaskier could feel him trembling more with each rocking thrust. There was something staggeringly beautiful about watching Geralt unravel at his touch, this huge, hard man who could kill monsters with his bare hands, who others claimed had no heart. Sweat sheened his skin, dampened the hair at his temples, his eyes were hazed, his mouth open slightly on gasping breaths.

“I want you to fall apart for me,” Jaskier whispered, trailing his hands down the back of Geralt’s neck, dragging his fingernails lightly, and Geralt’s head dropped back as he came, throbbing deep within Jaskier’s body. He was utterly silent until it was over, then he let out the breath he’d been holding, shuddering with aftershocks.

When Geralt came back to himself his hand twitched where it was still resting lightly on Jaskier’s cock, and Jaskier realized that he hadn’t come yet. He’d been so focused on Geralt that he forgot to take his own pleasure, and he laughed breathlessly.

“What’s funny?” Geralt asked, tightening his grip. His cock was still mostly hard inside Jaskier, a motionless fullness that Jaskier couldn’t imagine being without now.

“I am,” Jaskier replied. “Kiss me.”

So Geralt kissed him, slow and dirty, his tongue slick and twining around Jaskier’s in a dance that mimicked the rise and fall of his hand on Jaskier’s cock. It was enough, more than enough, it was simple and perfect, and Jaskier came almost as an afterthought over Geralt’s hand. They both sank down together in a languid stretch of limbs, their bodies separating unwillingly.

Neither of them spoke, but the silence in the room wasn’t uncomfortable as Jaskier clambered off the bed on shaky legs to find a clean rag. He cleaned Geralt up with gentle touches, letting him lie still in pleasure-soaked wonder, more relaxed than Jaskier had ever seen him. His short hair was a riot of waves around his head, a silver halo.

He cleaned himself and climbed back up on the bed to stretch out beside Geralt, who curled an arm around him. “So, you’re a bit sensitive here,” Jaskier commented, fighting a smile, reaching up to rub his fingers over the back of Geralt’s neck. Geralt, in turn, leaned into the touch with a sigh.

“More than I thought,” he replied, and left it at that.

“I’ll miss your long hair,” Jaskier mused, “but I like all this easy access to your skin. It’s a good trade.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, smiling, eyes closed. “You can still wash my hair, if you like.”

“I do like. It’s my favorite pastime.”

Geralt gave him an incredulous glance.

“An excuse to put my hands on you? I’m not going to give that up willingly.”

“You don’t need an excuse,” Geralt said quietly.

Silence fell between them again for a while, then Jaskier said, “So, next time. We’ve got more than one next time planned out.”

“We do.”

Jaskier cleared his throat, tensing a little. “So after those next times are over…”

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand from where it lay on his chest, fingertips on his medallion, and kissed his knuckles. He turned his head and met Jaskier’s gaze with his golden one. “I’m not going anywhere. Are you?”

Jaskier leaned in to kiss him, catching his mouth and holding him there, soaking in the heat of his lips, their softness in contrast to the hard contours of the rest of him. “I would never,” he promised, and nudged the dashing curl off his forehead.


End file.
